


The Answer's Always Yes (The I Give It a Year Remix)

by theladyscribe



Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-08 08:25:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15926600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theladyscribe/pseuds/theladyscribe
Summary: In the last year, Deepak has learned the five proper greetings of Illuyrian society and how best to express one's condolences to the family of a deceased ambassador, but no one has taught him how to ask whether an Illuyrian prince reciprocates his feelings.





	The Answer's Always Yes (The I Give It a Year Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [geckoholic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Answer's Always Maybe](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15515259) by [geckoholic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/pseuds/geckoholic). 



Their year is up, or nearly so. In the last twenty-three Illuyrian months, Deepak has: honeymooned on Alronia, learned the intricacies of Illuyrian etiquette, attended the state funeral of the Mulrokian ambassador, had lots of very athletic sex, and managed not to cause any intergalactic scandals.

It's been an eventful, but not entirely catastrophic, year.

And it's almost over, the 851 days of the Illuyrian calendar year - the length of an Illuyrian trial wedding - finally coming to a close. Deepak is supposed to be relieved, supposed to be planning how to spend the first alimony check once the divorce is finalized, supposed to be glad that the ordeal is finally, actually over and he can put it all behind him. But all he feels is sadness.

Because in the last twenty-three Illuyrian months, on top of the frankly fantastic sex and the etiquette lessons and the state functions, Deepak has also managed to fall deeply, madly, in love with Prince Arufilion XXIII, his accidental husband, who may or may not reciprocate those feelings.

The two of them have become friends over the course of their tenure as spouses, and in that time, they have grown close. They spend countless hours together, both in the course of their duties to the state (for a temporary spouse, Deepak has a surprising number of political and ceremonial responsibilities) and in their free time. More than once, they've spent the evening after a formal dinner or a particularly difficult day in court talking out the day's decisions and debating policy, debating late enough into the night that they fall into bed without so much as a goodnight kiss. Talking politics is not something Deepak liked to do on Earth -- there's a reason he left L.A. to find work off-planet instead of getting swept up in the political turmoil there -- but with Aruf it comes easily.

"You're the best human I've ever married," Aruf has told Deepak many times, but the counter is that Deepak is the _only_ human Aruf has married. Aruf says it fondly, but Deepak's rejoinder grinds a little more salt in the wound every time he voices it.

Deepak has learned the five proper greetings of Illuyrian society and how best to express one's condolences to the family of a deceased ambassador, but no one has taught him how to ask whether an Illuyrian prince reciprocates his feelings.

If Aruf were an Earthling, this would be easy. He'd just ask. And if the answer were yes, Deepak would take him to the nicest restaurant he could afford (which is frankly pretty nice these days, considering Aruf's family literally owns the planet), they'd have a five-course meal, and at the end, when the server brought out the after-dinner drinks, he'd get down on one knee and propose. For real, this time, not accidentally.

But Aruf _isn't_ from Earth, and things aren't that simple. Thanks to his endless Illuyrian etiquette lessons, Deepak knows that an Earthling proposal like that is tantamount to having kinky sex in public. And while some people might be into that, he really has made a concerted effort not to trigger any intergalactic scandals.

So he does none of the above. Instead, he counts down the dreadful days, crossing them off on the calendar and in his mind. Twenty days to the end of the best year of his life. Fourteen days until he has to move out of the palace and into a private mansion. Nine days until he bids Aruf goodbye forever, unlikely to see him outside official state parades.

Meanwhile, Aruf has grown more distant, spending less time in their chambers in the evenings, wrapped up in politics. He's been negotiating a treaty with the Ayurpan Empire, something about using their airspace for a slingshot route to Loesi. Deepak knows it's been a delicate process, the two monarchies still tense after previous talks broke down some years ago. They avoided a war over it, but barely, according to Aruf's explanation as to why Deepak was not invited to the negotiations.

Beyond that, Aruf refuses to talk to Deepak about it, citing diplomatic due process, though that's never stopped him before. The rift between them is already growing, and Deepak can see the writing on the wall. Once the year is up, Aruf will cut him loose, the only connection left between them the money to compensate for his year of trouble.

Three days before the end, Aruf comes back from a private audience with the Ayurpani delegates looking exhausted but relieved. He hasn't been eating well, the cut of his cheekbones too sharp and his vest hanging too loosely.

"There's a plate warming on the hob for you," Deepak tells him. "Have a seat, and I'll get it for you."

Aruf smiles his thanks, and slumps into the chair across from Deepak. He pours himself a glass of wine and drinks it in one long swallow. "What are we having? It smells delicious."

"Curry," Deepak says, setting the plate down in front of Aruf. "My mother's recipe."

He steps back, but Aruf catches his wrist and pulls him close for a kiss. "Thank you," he murmurs against Deepak's lips before releasing him and turning to the plate of rice and potatoes. Aruf inhales deeply and hums in satisfaction. "My regards to your mother."

"I can give you the recipe before I leave," Deepak offers, his stomach in knots as he takes his seat again.

Aruf's smile turns uncertain. "It wouldn't be the same."

Deepak supposes it wouldn't; Aruf is a terrible cook, as he discovered quite early on in their marriage. But he doesn't want to talk about their impending divorce. He changes the subject. "Did the negotiations go well?"

Aruf swallows a large bite of food. "Yes," he says, wiping at his face. "There's still some quibbling to be had over the exact wording, but the terms are set. The hardest part is over. We'll have to have formal robes made for the signing; it's tradition for the signatories to wear garments made in the style of the nation opposite the negotiating table. I'll have Thera set up an appointment for measurements." Aruf's eyes rake over Deepak in a way that still gives him shivers. "You'll look quite dashing in Ayurpani gold."

"They'll have the treaty drawn up in three days?" Deepak asks, impressed. In his experience, most Illuyrian political documents take weeks, if not longer.

Aruf pauses with his spoon halfway to his mouth. "Of course not. It will likely take them another month of arguing over when to use 'a' or 'the' or nothing at all and whether to specify 'shuttle' or simply say 'vessel'."

"Oh. I didn't think I'd be invited to things after…" Deepak trails off. None of Aruf's previous spouses have attended treaty signings after the divorce, so far as he's aware. He isn't sure he wants to be the exception, especially when it means seeing Aruf but never having him.

"After?" Aruf asks, setting his spoon down. "Oh, Deepak." Aruf stands, and before Deepak knows what's happening, he comes to kneel at Deepak's side.

"What are you doing?" Deepak whispers, his heart hammering in his chest.

Aruf gathers Deepak's hands in his. "I was going to wait until the last night to do this, but I don't want to wait any more. I don't know if you've noticed, but this last year has been even better than I expected. I know we said it would just be a fun romp, and you would have a good story to tell your future children at the end of it, but I don't want you to go. Deepak, I've fallen in love with you, and I want you to stay."

"What?" Deepak can barely get the word out. He feels like he's drowning and flying all at once. "What?" he asks again.

Aruf curses and fumbles at his vest. "I've got it here somewhere," he mutters before pulling his hand out of a pocket with a triumphant grin. "Deepak of Los Angeles," he says, holding a ring aloft, "will you be my husband forever?"

Deepak nods and finds his words. "Yes," he breathes, pulling Aruf up for a kiss. "Yes, of course."


End file.
